Before I was in Arkham, before I became Scarecrow, I used to read so many psychological reports.
One report sticks in the mind, given my current situation, a report discussing the possibility that there was a correlation between suicidal tendencies and serving time in jail. Psychologists can be very lazy sometimes. It was hypothesised that jail takes away from the humans basics hierarchy of needs.
The first layer, basic physiological existence. Every morning the hatch door slips open and food and water is provided. Soup and bread. Nothing fancy. This prison isn't for our rehabilitation to society. We're beyond that. This is about punishment. There isn't a soul in Gotham City who doesn't agree we shouldn't suffer. There isn't a soul who will welcome me back to the streets.
Food and water is just to keep us alive.
This layer also references sex, but in a jail, I'm not gonna lament on that.
o o o o o o o o
Everything about Arkham seemed to show off the harsh nature about it. The tide had battered against the coast of Arkham Island without mercy, leaving it a jagged array. To taunt the unfortunate inhabitant of Arkham, the sight of Gotham took over the city skyline. The beautiful skyscrapers piercing the clouds, separated by a mile of water. This mile of water had stopped its latest desperate escape, Edward Nigma, the Riddler.
"That's the problem with prisons. They're not easy to escape."
The familiar gruff voice. A familiar series of events generally ensued.
Nigma turned and swung out. His fist was half way through its journey before meeting the familiar leather fists stopping fist in its path. The second fist followed quickly, it's path eventually being stopped by Nigma's face. Batman wasn't finished though, quickly delivering two quick blows, first to the stomach, than returning to the jaw with a vengeance.
Hurtling back now, Edward Nigma found himself gripped by his now well accustomed friend of unconsciousness.
o o o o o o o o o
The third ring is personal comfort. Friendship. Family. And once again, sex.
Sex pops up a lot in this list.
There's a small crack in the side of the cell. On a good night I can get a quiet conversation with next door. A quiet conversation to the next door psychopath with only a wall to separate to hit us. The entire spectrum of friendship, love and sex is all ground down into that. And anyway, my neighbour slit his wrists two weeks back. We wont be having any more conversations.
o o o o o o o o o
"How did you get out of Arkham Riddler?" Batman rasped.
"This is the part where I give the obligatory Riddle."
The looming structure of Arkham Asylum was coming into view. The battered Gothic building was centuries old, twisted and battered by time. It was the place of nightmares. It was the place the monsters under the bed had nightmares about.
The Riddler was being dragged along the ground back home. The last half hour had passed in silence, but on an island deserted from everything, the souls sucked from any person on the island. Even Batman needed a reminder there was some humanity in the world. And an answer to questions were always helpful. Knowing is half the battle.
"I didn't ask for a riddle. I asked for an answer." Batman barked back.
"Oh that's a shame. This is a fun little riddle." Riddler chuckled.
Sanity and insanity. Order and chaos. Hero and villain. Despite the Riddlers predicament, he was creating an excellent stand-off.
"How? Why? What?" The Riddler recited.
"What exactly is that?" Batman asked.
"A riddle is just an anomaly that requires a solution. You already have that, I'm just giving it to you in question. So as I said. How? Why? What?"
So much for conversation Batman thought to himself. There might be humanity left in the Riddler, left in Edward Nigma. But he wasn't here to find it. He was just putting something back in its place.
o o o o o o o o o
The final layer of the spectrum is self actualisation. Morality, acceptance, spontaneity.
My jail cell is 7 foot steps wide by 8 footsteps long. When I stretch my arms I can nearly touch the ceiling. I spent half my life forcing peoples darkest nightmares and the next half in jail. I will almost never see the light of day again. I will never find myself with any of those things and I will never find myself needing them.
To say someone takes their own life here is inaccurate. This isn't a life. This is an existence. My neighbour wasn't ending it all, he was just brushing away what remained.
This is how the story of the Scarecrow will end. Rotting away in a cold cell, everything that once made me a legend, stripped away. Till I'm nothing but an empty shell.
o o o o o o o o o
"We can't thank you enough Batman. Prisoner escapes can be pretty difficult, you made life a lot easier."
"No thanks necessary. It's what I do."
The Riddler was having a straight jacket fitted. He accepted his fate without struggle, accept for the glint in his eyes that might chill a man if they were to star too long at him. The stare and other factors all contributed to the security that surrounded him. No inmate of Arkham could be trusted.
The Riddler was being pulled away, tha for a brief second he stopped, alerting all the guards. He started at Batman, a smile slowly maifesting on his face.
"The Riddle earlier. How? Why? What? Want to know the answer?"
Batman was silent.
"The anomaly, the puny man escaping the inescapable prison. The answers. How? They let me out. Why? They wanted you. What now? Now, welcome to the family."
Than for a brief second everyone was still. And Batman looked at the guards around him. The way they looked at Riddler. The fear and the wonder at the crazed figure they saw before them. A figure strayed so far into the abyss the humanity seemed to have been lost in the journey. And the masks of violence and strength to hide these fears. That was how they stared at The Riddler.
It was now how they stared at him.
Batman swung out at the first guard before he could even make a move. Their was a brief thud and Batman knew the guard was no longer a threat. The other two were raising their guns.
Batman rushed forward. He flung one hand out and watched a flash of black rush on ahead, disarming the first guard. The second turned for a moment, in shock. It was a moment too long. He turned back just in time to have his vision filled with the dark boots of the prey turning the tables.
After that the world was blurry and his senses to focused on the throbbing pain spreading across his face. A pain that was blocking out the knowledge he was being hoisted into the air, shrouding the Dark Knight from the final guard, the one lucky enough to be able to draw his gun.
The final guard was scarred. He was terrified. Every day he found himself face to face with the usual barrage of freaks. But this one was armed, and he was right in front of him. Time to act.
"Drop your gun and we'll end this now." Batman said, his voice quiet, focused.
First shot. Not a gun shot. Silent, high pitched. A tranquiliser. The guard fell. His shield was gone.
Second shot. A thud to the chest. Than the world started melting.
Third shot. Thud. The world is quiet. The world is spinning. Nothing except the maniacal laughter of the Riddler.
Laughing as the darkness takes hold.
o o o o o o o o o
All those needs robbed from us. All the humanity gone. Each day closer to suicide.
When Bruce Wayne became the latest guest in the worlds worst hotel, I gave him two weeks, at best.
Little did I know he would present such an interesting story to tell.
To Be Continued...
Please Review and let me know what you think, this is an idea I've been putting quite a bit of thought into and I hope to continue the story and give the readers some enjoyment.